Reboot
by grayorca
Summary: Once-oneshot, tentative continuation. Rating to be increased in later chapters. Post movie. Charlie has a business proposition for Bailey - again.
1. Reboot

**Disclaimer:** "Real Steel" and all its canon content are the property of DreamWorks / Touchstone. No infringement is intended.

**Notes:** I'm trying to keep my notes to a minimum so they do not turn out longer than the oneshot itself. So:

This is an experimental oneshot meant to set the stage for a possible continuation I've always labeled in my head as "Outta His League". I've long wanted to write a rebuilt!Noisy Boy-centric story, but without resorting to the creation of OCs or fabricating unexplored canon backstory that may or may not be addressed in an eventual "Real Steel 2". For a while, I sat back and waited to see if anyone else would venture into that literary territory. There are a couple good ones here, however short or unfinished. Recently, though, I've become tired of waiting.

After toying with various plotlines in my head, this one finally stuck and stayed in my head. We'll see where it goes.

* * *

><p><em>"You're not serious."<em>

_"Come on. With all that's happened, why wouldn't I be?"_

_"Because I know how much you prefer keeping the past buried where it lies, when it suits you, Charlie."_

_"Yeah, well, this isn't one of those times. I've been working on him all summer - "_

_"Couldn't tell just by looking at him."_

_"Bail, you can ask Max. He's helped out on more than one occasion. Circuit by circuit. Besides the voice recog, all this guy needs is a little old-fashioned elbow grease and we could have him back on his feet before Christmas."_

_"Minus an arm and head?"_

_"...I've been saving that for last. The folks at Crash Palace won't deal reasonably, y'know."_

_"He'd be better off sent to the scrap heap, Charlie. He could be reworked, but he'll never be what he used to."_

_"Not immediately, no. But if you could at least keep him here, in standby, who knows? Might provide a little more draw for the gym if they knew what a storied robot boxer was here."_

_"...You've kept this quiet?"_

_"Silent as a mouse. Back-up plans work best that way."_

_"Which is why I'm having such a hard time believing you. Subtlety was never your strong suit."_

_"Can we stop with the pitty-pat? I thought you'd be all for this idea. Atom's opened the doors. Anything's possible now."_

_"That doesn't mean we should go 'mad scientist' and start bringing bots back from the dead. Atom may've been a throwaway, but he was still in one piece. Barely functional, yet enough to be brought back."_

_"And we can't do one step back from that? You know how many times I had to put Ambush back together?"_

_"Out of necessity. How else did you know how to make a living?"_

_"Before _Christmas_, Bail. It can be done."_

_"...You promised Max?"_

_"...Maybe. Yes. Well, no. Not in so many words. Bailey! Please, I can get the money together. It won't cost you a dime."_

_"We may be square, Charlie, but that's no excuse for you to go backsliding into old habits. He's a fighting bot, not a get-rich-quick guarantee."_

_"Again, not yet. But if you could train him - "_

_"There's nothing to train. He was in form _before _you let Crash Palace chew him up."_

_"Yeah, and I'm to blame for that. I know."_

_"And you remember _why _he changed hands so many times since Mashido sold out?"_

_"I do, but I didn't see any indicators of that before he got scrapped. He wasn't exactly given a choice, logging all those frequent-flier miles. Most of those guys held onto him for his pedigree, long enough to get their names noticed and raise enough money for their own bot before passing him down the line. We could be the ones who put a stop to that."_

_"..."_

_"I know it sounds whimiscal. Big picture, though, Bail - Atom's just the tip of the iceberg here."_

_"...It'd still be a big risk we'd be taking."_

_"No new territory there. It's one way to make a living. Difference is - it won't be our only way this time. We have a choice, so why not do the right thing?"_

_"After Max, if this is your way of making amends..."_

_"Why stop at one? At the least, where he could retire would be more fitting than some old scrap yard. Things get dicey, we just pull the plug."_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> The loophole - I've often wondered who was on the other end of the phone call before Max's custody hearing. Charlie asks what is wrong that has driven Noisy's former owner to put said bot up for sale, but that reason is never disclosed. A simple language barrier that was as easily fixable as Bailey showed us couldn't have been it.

That, and I can't help but think post-movie Charlie would identify with Noisy in some unspoken way. They both were once-contenders in their respective careers, right?

Like? Hate? Let me know.


	2. Retread

**Disclaimer:** "Real Steel" and all its canon content are the property of DreamWorks / Touchstone. No infringement is intended.

**Notes:** A further extension of my once-oneshot, clarifying the time and setting around our characters, but keeping some elements unmentioned, for fear of giving away what plot I'd like to slowly steer us toward.

I tried to keep it from being too bogged-down in technologal jargon. A lot of those details I'll leave to the imagination. RS doesn't exactly go into _how_ the bots work.

* * *

><p><em>Optimistic, Charlie. As always.<em>

Several hours into the reassembly, Bailey Tallet could remember how her evening began with that one clarifying thought. How, after helping her haul all the necessary components into a hastily-cleared storage space, adjacent to the gym's locker room, Charlie had unceremoniously bolted from the scene. Bewildered, but confident he had his reason (as he had so passionately opined earlier), Bailey had started to plan, arranging the pieces in accordance with what blueprints she had been able to procure.

Arrange those pieces she could lift alone, that was.

Misgivings aside, it was mostly as she had last remembered seeing: a crippled pile of metal laid out across the floor of her gym. Thankfully, the bulk of the frame was still intact, as Charlie had declared. The mapwork of dents, cracks, and gouges rendered across the once-stylish armor attested to the ferocity of the bot's last battle. Bailey shuddered to think of fixing the internal damage which lay below, however much was "already done" as she was led to believe. The worst of it would be the detached limb and cranial piece, reintegrating them into this jumble of once-functional systems.

To rebuild a beaten-down bot was one thing.

To reanimate one from deactivation, that was another.

Hardly the same as simply hitting the power switch for a lightbulb, reactivation was always a risky thing. There would be no way of anticipating what haywire reaction an addled, reawakened processor would interpret its surroundings with, violent or no. Bailey knew very well the stories of industry technicians being hospitalized by errant, uncontrolled bots.

So it was with no small measure of relief when she heard the familiar rumble of a truck pass by, brake, and _beep-beep-beep_ its way back into the alley behind the gym.

She managed to summon a half-hearted scowl as she heard Charlie baring his way back across the darkened building. His progress was hindered only some unseen obstacle as she also heard a thud, the stumble of shuffling feet, and a muted curse. The scowl skewed sideways into a tired smile.

At last he backed his way through the storage room door, a cardboard box tucked under one arm.

"You're sure about this?"

Bailey indulged herself an eyeroll. "That's what I'm supposed to be asking you, Dr. Frankenstein." She stood from where she had sat beside the table, comfortable in the old T-shirt and faded pair of jeans she had elected to sacrifice for the operation. Her face fell again as Charlie hefted the ominous box onto the table beside the detached limb. "This is the best place I could think of. Cramped, yeah, but at least I won't have to worry about closing any windows."

Producing a box-cutter, Charlie set to work unwrapping his prize. "I know, not ideal, but smart call."

Bailey took the tattered blueprints in hand again, pretending to gloss over their particulars, but watched her partner out of the corner of her eye until curiously won its internal debate, plucking at her too tenaciously. "You don't think you were followed?"

Charlie paused, hands poised to unfold the box's split sides. "Tough to say. All sorts of types there tonight. Pit boss didn't let this go lightly, or cheap, but I convinced him I had Finn's blessing."

Bailey's doubts resurfaced full-bore. She folded the blueprints under one arm. "Underworld connections aren't always a blessing."

"Yeah, Finn's a good guy, though. He'll hear me out where another might go prospecting for a nice ditch to introduce us to."

"I still don't like this, Charlie." The frazzled look turned her way beckoned to say he didn't already know, so she continued: "And it's pretty out of left field. I mean, I know you're compulsive, but it doesn't take a lot to figure buying a different bot would have been a lot less chancy."

"I've spent a lot time running from past mistakes, Bail. Not all of which are as easily rectifiable as this. It's high time I started owning up to them instead." With that statement standing in for a flourish, he opened the box, revealing its contents in the soft, yellow glow of the overhead light. "Second chances and all that."

Bailey's heart sank, but not at the pitiful, lopsided bundle now sitting unwrapped before them. Perhaps she was being rash, chastizing this man who, despite her affections, hadn't always been the easiest to love. In recent weeks, Charlie had seemed legitimate in his crusade to clean up his act, moreso than it already was. The fact he had waived his custody of Max didn't mean he wanted to be any less a part of the boy's life, not anymore. Robot boxing was the core commonality between them. This side project was merely another extension of their shared passion, looking for a handhold.

Out there, yeah, but so was the idea of a sparring bot ever being permitted a stake in the WRB.

Before Atom, she had initially dismissed the idea of a rebuild. But that had been a dark hour for them all. Now, with the funds available and a moderately more-comfortable lifestyle, it seemed almost possible.

The old Charlie would have run from this scene with a pat on the shoulder (or a kiss on the cheek, if he was feeling bold enough) and a "Good luck."

An hour after the trek back from Crash Palace, he was seated on the other side of the table across from her, leather coat and baseball hat shed, meticulously stripping wires, absentmindedly glancing to the gently-beeping portable diagnostic monitor now rigged up to Noisy Boy's inert form.

The silence grew too heavy with expectation. Bailey spoke up to disperse it, though she kept focused on her hands, delicate as they were in comparison to the sharp metal they worked around. This was only the first of what she thought would be a few long nights of unfriendly work, between days of equally-hazardous tiptoeing. Better to clear the air now.

"So, Max."

"...Yeah?"

"Max wanted this?"

"In a way, I think. It was his idea to transplant Noisy's voice recog into Atom, but that was it. Nowadays it's 'Noisy who?' But I think he'd jump at the chance to revive an idol, reinvent the wheel a bit." Charlie paused. "That, and I can't think of anything else that might get him more psyched up for the next tour."

"Points for originality." Understanding or no, Charlie's sense of competition bled into most things he did. He had to have some means to put himself on equal standing with Max's wealthy, if not doting, aunt and uncle. She smiled at him, but Charlie's unwavering concentration to his work didn't allow him to return the smirk. "What you said earlier, Atom being the 'tip of the iceberg'? You have other ideas you're not telling me, Charlie?"

"...Maybe. I'll let you know what they are when I figure them out."

This time the smile stayed. For all his improvements, some things about Charlie Kenton never changed.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> Moody, yeah, but I tried to keep this realistic as to Charlie's motivations and Bailey's reluctance, to the best of my ability, while indulging in what seems to be many-a-fan's wish to see Noisy resurrected.

Like? Hate? Let me know.


	3. Refute

**Disclaimer:** "Real Steel" and all its canon content are the property of DreamWorks / Touchstone. No infringement is intended.

**Notes:** Re-read the Richard Matheson short story "Steel" to reacquaint myself with its content. I now see a few hints the movie later paid in homage to it. But the style in which it was written is what kept my attention: concise, but with just enough hints of emotion. That is what I hope to emulate.

* * *

><p>Tallet's Gym had been avoiding the small business dustbin for years. Locally, it was known as a workshop, somewhere the less-grungy underworld owners could rent space to rebuild or temporarily store their bots for a modest fee. As homegrown workshops went, it was a clean operation, as Bailey Tallet tolerated no illict dealings on the side (those of a certain down-but-not-out former boxer being the sole exception).<p>

Ergo, it came as no surprise when an 'unsuspecting' Finn turned up on her doorstep the next day.

"Charlie phoned ahead," he explained, after tense-if-polite pleasantries were exchanged. Handshake over, his hands returned to his pockets, hood drawn up to better compliment the polarized sunglasses obscuring his face. "Haven't made it back to the Palace yet, so I appreciate the heads-up. I'm sorry for intruding, but I thought it was only fair to extend you the same courtesy, Ms. Tallet."

With the most impassive face she could manage, Bailey stayed where she was, feet planted in the open doorway. Unceremoniously awoken from her first bout of rest since the first leg of the rebuild, hair toussled, swaddled in a bathrobe, she wasn't in the most receptive mood. Resigned to her decision to open the door for Finn, she would at least hear him out. "What courtesy would that be?"

"Just word that the whispers are already out there, gathering steam. And not all the news is good. If what I'm hearing is right, Charlie might have made himself - and you - a few more problems."

"I expected as much," Bailey muttered, wiping sleep from an eye with the heel of her palm. Without coffee, only the crisp air of the alley, carpeted with low-clinging fog, was keeping her awake enough to listen. "But I also don't know an idiot within a hundred miles of here that would dare trespass."

Finn smirked. "Hm, granted, but you and I both know 'trespass' may be the least of what they have in mind."

"Boxing grudges are nothing to kill about, Finn. The underworld is a cash-only business. If Charlie bought back a trophy with one of your bit boss' okays, that's cut and dried."

"Doesn't mean the parties are averse to the idea of scores being settled later." Finn paused, lifting a hand to an unseen earpiece. He nodded in acknowledgement to said message before glancing back at Bailey. "Y'all are really planning on getting Noisy back on his feet?"

Bailey crossed her arms. "If we're lucky. He could at least be stood up and be locked in position for whatever museum exhibit would have him."

Finn snorted, repressing a laugh. "Give the old dawg his due, gathering dust instead of rust? I get the impression that's what _you_ would like to see happen, not Charlie."

Bailey chewed a lip in thought. She supposed there could be worse people she might hold this conversation with. On closer inspection, the damage Midas had dealt wouldn't be as quick a fix as Charlie initially projected. With the needed-replacement list compiled, Charlie had left a few hours earlier to begin scavenging. This left her to argue the merits of his rebuild plan alone.

Nothing new there - deflections were a specialty she had come to excel in over the years she had known him.

"I still don't think he fully realizes how expensive this will be. Some components can be salvaged, but putting them back together, married to new parts, and expecting it to work..."

"A bad bet," Finn surmised. "Y'know why that bot became such a globetrotter?"

"Yes, Mashido met the Lemkovas' checkbook. Part of the partnership contract was the condition that he start fresh, design fighters for them, and sell all his prototypes. Noisy's next owner was a colleague of Tak's, with a stake in the Asian-branch WRB."

"No, after that. After Rubicon knocked him off the gravy train."

Here Bailey indulged in a sigh that said all of what she thought of these often-retold rumors. More annoying was the notion that she had tried to use the same argument to dissuade Charlie not twenty-four hours earlier. "The murmurs?"

"Unexplained maneuvers? Phantom viruses? Hints of sentience?"

"Ghost stories passed between mechanics, working too many hours, reading too far between the lines of programmed behavior. People say that about every bot. Charlie and I didn't see anything to that effect."

"While you knew Noisy all of what, two hours?"

"If you're trying to spook me into selling him, I don't have anything for you, Finn. Charlie owns the remains, for better or worse."

The man's smirk reappeared. "The opposite, actually - I'm here to 'endorse your endeavour'." With the hand from his left pocket, he withdrew and presented said loan. "Off the record, mind you."

Bailey eyed the folded roll of currency, but made no move to touch it. Any surprise she felt was effectively masked by suspicion. "Charlie put you up to this?"

"Not in the least. I have one catch - wherever this project takes you, y'all will make an encore trip to Crash Palace sometime soon?"

"...Why?"

Finn shrugged. "The Palace is one of my places; I gotta keep up appearances, scout for talent, that kinda thing. You said it yourself - whatever you rebuild won't be the same Noisy as before. If no one else will have you, imagine what kinda jackpot we could scrape together if folk knew he was back from the dead?"

Bailey couldn't deny the logic of that, unsavory comparison aside. It was only because their underworld counterparts went largely unseen that the higher-rung society of fighters, their lucrative fans and their spit-polished sponsors, liked to pretend they didn't skulk about in the shadows. There would always be money in the game waged outside of regulation and responsibility. And the reputation one's fighter developed in moving through such circles successfully was priceless.

_Reinvent the wheel._

But participating in the underworld fight league didn't mean one simply abandon all their principles at the first whif of winnings.

"Keep the money, Finn. If Charlie is as good for this as he says, I want him to mean it, from start to finish."

"Fair enough. We'll keep it quiet amongst ourselves, but keep that possibility of a rematch in mind, yeah?" Pocketing the cash, Finn had the grace to look respectfully rebuked.

But he still indulged in an ironic half-bow, as if in deference to the former Steel Samurai now in storage, before departing. "Thanks for your time."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> Pretty vague, I know, but then I still tried to keep it entertaining. I'm slowly starting to figure out what genres this story will eventually fit into.

Like? Hate? Let me know.


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